Drowning
by Hellsig Otoupeim
Summary: No matter how much you love Ron, you love your unborn children more. (He is not a Father, and thus will become yet another thing you will have sacrificed for them; because they only deserve the best.)


Drowning (It has never been so sweet.)

.

You want children.

The thought comes to you unbidden, one night, as you are blindly watching a replay of the Chudley Cannons. Ron is cheering, focused firmly on the projection of those Omniculars Harry gifted him, unaware of the thunder that has cracked through your mind. You sit there startled and speechless.

You want children. It's a craving in your bones that you cannot - would not - deny; no matter how much it hurts. You want children, you love those tiny little monsters of yours that are but mere whispers yet, and something in you clenches and tightens and dies.

Ron, you know, isn't the man you want children with.

(You love him. It's not a question, not anymore, not after four years and the War and hope; but Ron left - even if you pretend he didn't - and it says a great deal about the man he is.) Perhaps you are rotten to judge him on a moment of weakness, five years ago, but you cannot deny it. Ron left and you swore, as he came back, that he would never, ever, get to leave again. You are leaving. You love your unborn children more than Ron. (It hurts. Oh, how it hurts.)

You want a man who will stay. You want a man who will come home every night and read a story to the children. You want a man who will take them to the muggle primary school you are thinking of, want a man who will budget for their Dance and Drawing and Horseback Riding classes - you want a man who will be a Father for your children. (You find - and it hurts, although it doesn't surprise you - that you don't necessarily want a man who you will love. You, perhaps, don't have quite enough love within yourself to give to a man; not when your entire being already aches for those unborn children of yours.) You want someone who will be everything you cannot be.

Your children deserve nothing less than happiness.

You want a man who doesn't get angry. (Ron has no patience for the little things. He curses at the microwave and gets his shoelaces all tangled up when he tosses his shoes off because he can't be bothered to undo them.) You want a man who will sit with the little ones and help with homework - be it Seventh Year Arithmancy or Year One English. (Ron doesn't have N.E.W.T.s and his grammar is awful.) You want someone who will listen to the children when they have something to say. (He cannot even manage to listen to you.) You want a man; not a boy. You want a Father - not a husband, and even less a boyfriend.

You know, Ron has told you sufficient times for your prodigious brain to remember it, that you can be bossy. You know you can be cold. You know you can be harsh. (You feel nothing but love for your children.) It's overbearing, bubbling up in your chest with a feeling that makes you drown, tears swimming in your eyes because you feel, oh how you feel the warmth already. You can already see the little bundle resting against your chest, can already feel the weight in your arms and you see, you see that little sliver of happiness smiling at you and screaming at you and crying at you - and all you can feel is love. It's suffocating. (You never knew drowning could be so sweet.)

You want - and it makes you sound selfish; all those 'wants', but it isn't so much that you want rather than that you need - you need a man who will be able to exist with you. Ron and you argue everyday already. (Your children deserve better than two parents at each other's throat.) You want to show them a united front. You want to have nothing for them but love. You want all their needs pandered to and all their spoiled wishes denied and all their shy demands met. You want them to feel the love you have for them - would weave blankets out of it if you could so you might wrap them up and tuck those tiny little slivers of sunshine away from harm.

You know, that's one thing you are really good at, that you might never love him, the Father to your children. You figure it is a small price to pay for them, for their happiness, and you wonder who might be what you need. Who might fit the bill. (Once you have done the list and pondered your choices, you know Ron - and perhaps Harry - will never understand why you did what you did. You hope they can learn to live past it.)

You want a man who will scold your children. You want a man who will explain to them what they have done wrong and punish them for it, but send them away with a kiss on their head. You want a man who will go to piano recitals even if your child can't play for shit and a man who will help the little one get dressed and feed him his soup (with five vegetables in it and some meat, so he has a balanced diet without too much salt or sugar) and sigh but smile when your toddler stains his best business tie with tomato sauce. You want a man who will run around the garden with him, play muggle football if that's what he would like, or quidditch if it's more her thing and you want a man who will father and nurture and love, love at least as much as you do so you can never fear when you leave him with the kids. You want the type of man to walk out of the business meeting of a lifetime if you child calls him because your baby needs to talk. You need this man. (Your children deserve nothing less, and you refuse to give up the search for this man. You will give them nothing less. You will give them nothing other than the best of you and the best of him. It's a promise. It's a promise - the colour of despair and sweet as honey on your tongue.)

.

You were, as you are often wont to be, right.

Ron does not understand. Harry does not understand, not until Ginny and you meet up for coffee and you explain to the ginger. She understands, perhaps not straight away, but she does, eventually. ("But - won't the fact that both you and Ron love them be enough? I mean; I grew up without Dance classes and Latin lessons and Drawing tutors; but I'm still happy. My childhood was fine, great even. I loved it, and Mum and Dad did their absolute best. Yes, sometimes we felt like it wasn't enough - but it always was. It always has been. Isn't it more important that you are happy; because if you aren't happy then neither will your children, right?") You think she explained it to Harry, figured she must have, because when you next meet (two thirds of the shattered Golden trio), he is kind and careful with you. ("What you are doing is brave. I don't think I ever could love someone that much. It's - it's big, what you are doing. It's like throwing everything you are away for the sake of a tiny little human being who will never quite realise how much you have done for them. They'll take and take and take, and you will give and give and give - and I don't quite know how you are going to manage to keep giving when you are already putting your whole on the line. I think you are going to be a great mother. You are certainly going to be worth a lot more than whatever lucky bloke you pick.") You laugh, ask him if you'll still be worth that much if it's a Slytherin you pick and Harry smiles. He had seen that one coming. ("Even more so, 'Mione.") You feel warm all over and hope against hope that this baby of yours, those babies of yours that you haven't brought to life yet, those little ghosts of yours; you wonder if they can feel how loved they are already. You hope. Gosh, how you hope.

.

You try out a few men. (If that's even the appropriate term.)

You go out with Neville a few times, sweet sweet Neville who lacks a spine and the will to confront you when you are wrong. You spend a year with George - still swept up in the thrill of magic and the Wizarding Wheezes; spend time with Cormac and Viktor and Dean and no one, none of them quite manages to be the rock you want. You talk to Terrence Higgs and Terry Boot, to Oliver Wood and Ollie McKinnon, to Blaise Zabini and Barnaby Prince. You talk and talk and talk, flirt and ask and dig and no one, none of them, is quite the right blend of Father and Man that you feel comfortable sharing the bubbling agony in your chest. You feel like they would run away.

Then, you meet Theodore Nott.

Theodore Nott is gay and sarcastic and lanky; like he might be blown over by a too strong wind, but he's also clever and stable and kind. And he wants children. (That's one of the first things he tells you, right after his name - as if you had forgotten since Hogwarts! - and that he prefers men. You think you've found the one.) Theodore lives alone in a mansion in Kent. He has money in his vaults and a horrible tattoo on his left forearm. Theodore also agrees with you on the need for primary muggle education ("how else do you expect children to learn how to write and be logical? Private tutors don't give you the social awareness a classroom might.") and he even argues for the music lesson you didn't dare dream about. ("Violin or Piano to begin with. Then, if so is her or his wish, Voice. Perhaps even the Organ, if they like dramatics. The Manor is big enough for that.") You want to cry. (When you tell Theodore you don't mind, really, if he wants to have a lover on the side - since you aren't and never will be what he desires - he tells you that he doesn't want to have to tell the children, one day, that Daddy and Mommy don't love each other. He tells you he would rather never touch another man, because you will be the Mother of his children and this is just another bit of himself he's giving them.) You want to cry. (He says the thought of children far outweighs the one of a lover. He says the words you said to Ginny five years ago.)

Theodore understands when you speak about a golden light choking you, sitting heavily on your chest like a promise of love and kindness and warmth - always.

.

He speaks of his Father, who sat through every single recital he ever did. He tells you of those horrid dance lessons his dad forced on him, and how Theodore would always hide in the library, and how his father sat in on every single lesson and even once or twice played the female part because he wanted his son, his Heir, his House's Future, to know that he loved him and he was proud. Theodore tells you about the visits to the cemetery to talk to his Mother, of how his Dad would tell him stories of her and how he always let him know that she would be proud. Theodore tells you about afternoons being chased around the rose garden and peals of laughter when his Dad would toss him through the air and how, sometimes, when it thundered outside, his Father would let him sleep in his bed. He tells you of what he wants for your children. (You can already see it, can already touch it with the tips of your fingers, so you tell him in return.)

You tell Theodore of visits to the Museum during cold winter afternoons. You tell him of the 'One book rule' that your Mother enforced every time you entered a library - apart from Wednesdays and special occasions. You tell him of the point system, of how you got 'credit' for your books with every good grade you brought home and how your dad never failed to slip you a sweet or two when you had had a bad day. You tell him of Mummy pushing you to play outside with the other kids and how she would kiss your forehead and tell you that she loved you anyway when you replied you would rather read. You tell him of those drawing lessons you wish you had taken and how your dad took you camping every year and the value of doing things for yourself. You tell him of things you never told anyone else, because giving bits of yourself is fine - but giving bits of your children has always hurt you a little. With Theodore, you find it's not that at all.

He gives and gives and gives, and you remember Harry's words. (You might give and give and give and put everything you are on the line for your children to take, but Theodore will do the same and together you will be endless.)

.

You fall pregnant a year and a bit after first talking to Theodore. You are thirty-one. (It's a bit late, you think. Past your child giving prime, so you make sure to take vitamins and iron tablets and attend maternity classes dutifully. Theodore is there every step of the way. You don't even need to ask or look over your shoulder or search for him in the crowd. You know he is here.)

He marries you, because that's how things are done in the Nott family - and your child will be Heir of the Ancient and Noble House of Nott. Neither a pureblood nor a muggle born, but a Half Blood - son of a War Heroine and one of the most Ancient Fortunes of England. You are both decided to give your little boy the world.

(You go to Azkaban, where Theodore's Dad is still clinging onto life, and show the firstborn son for approval. He cries, cries when he sees the little baby and that is enough for you. "Family", Theodore Nott Senior says between two sobs. "You have built yourself a wonderful family. I am proud of you, Theo. I love you, and that little boy of yours. Hell, I'll even love his mother.") Theodore Nott Senior, like his son, has an ugly tattoo. You find that you couldn't care less.

.

You fall pregnant a second time. It's as amazing as the first, and you feel the same glow, the same love still that carried you all the way to where you are now. You are endless, always giving and never quite taking but receiving regardless, and the entire world is alight with golden light. You love your son and you love your unborn son and gosh - you think you might love Theodore as well, for giving those bundles of joy to you. You are happier than you have ever been.

You have come a long way from the girl-who-couldn't-stay-with-her-boyfriend. You still drown. (Theodore drowns with you.)

.

You must amend. You love your son and you love your newly born twins; a baby boy and a baby girl - and you are quite sure you love your husband and he loves you back. Drowning has never been so sweet.


End file.
